


Ribbons and Worms

by xxthisbr0kencityskyxx



Category: Bandom, MCR - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Anorexia, BDSM Scene, Basement Gerard Way, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Boyfriends, BoyxBoy, Bugs & Insects, Bulimia, Chubby Gerard Way, Depression, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Force-Feeding, Frank and gerard - Freeform, Frerard, Gay, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, MCRmy - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge Era Frank Iero, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Shy Gerard Way, Sick Frank Iero, Sub Frank Iero, Sub Gerard Way, Trauma, Violence, Worms, authors universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxthisbr0kencityskyxx/pseuds/xxthisbr0kencityskyxx
Summary: "I wish I could remember the sun. I know what it looks like. I haven’t been outside since he took me. The light he turns off when he goes back upstairs reminds me of the sun."Frank can't remember the last time he slept on a bed; All he has is the hard concrete floor in the unfinished basement of a stranger. It's cold, dark, and filled with an eerie silence. The stench of mold never disappears nor do the bruises he's covered in.Hope doesn't exist here, not anymore; only fear.





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep everyone waiting, I've been trying to write when I can ♡
> 
> -Dominik

I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter!

Graphic content ahead: rape mentions, kidnapping and violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic content ahead !


	2. The Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy, I've been writing this for days x
> 
> -Dominik

When I can’t hear his voice I am safe. I wish he would cut off my ears so I would never hear him again. My mind is filled with my own screams. I can’t block them out, they’re far too loud. The walls have heard everything. My cries are in them. They know. When he is raping me I look at the walls and the ceiling and follow the cracks along it. I don’t cry anymore when he does these things. I can’t. After he’s done, he pulls his pants back up and while I’m still shaking, asks me to do his belt. He spits on me and laughs. I don’t look at him. I’m nothing. I'm not a person. I don’t deserve his attention but he so willingly gives it to me and I don’t want it. Each time I say no and each time it angers him; he says I should suck it up and take it.

Today is no different than the next. I’ve stopped counting. No one is coming. No one wants me. Only him. I don’t understand why the worst man in the world had to be the one who chose me.

. . . .

Today he leaves me on the concrete floor in the basement. It’s cold and wet with my urine. I peed on myself by accident. It made him angry. He didn’t want to touch me because of it, so I'll do it again tomorrow. I’m really cold. My body is covered in different colors. Purple and yellow and dark green. I pick at the spots of dried blood that have long hardened. I can’t remember the last time I had a bath. I don’t think I would even want one if it was offered. I don’t want to see my reflection in the water and I don’t want to feel his hands on my aching back. My broken body can’t compare to my spirit. I’m damaged everywhere. I thought that he could only hurt me on the outside but I’m wrong. He takes whatever he wants and he takes a piece of my soul every day. I wonder what will happen when I don’t have any more soul to give him. Will he finally kill me? He says he cares for me. That I don’t understand love, because I am sick. I feel sick most days. My cough has gotten worse. I try to be quiet so I don’t disturb him. He has to sleep so I can live in peace for a little while. I count the minutes when he is asleep. Each minute undisturbed, I am alive. 

 

. . . . 

My arms itch down to my feet. My head is itchy too. I’ll never get used to the bugs. They’re all I have down here and I hate them. It’s almost always dark and I don’t have to see them to know they’re biting me. I feel it constantly. The only time they aren’t around, is when the lights are on; When the lights come on they scatter; although as much as I hate them, I'd rather be in the dark with bugs than in the light with this man. Even the roaches go into hiding when he comes downstairs. They leave me alone for a little while with a monster who looks like a human. He does unspeakable things to me and I can’t escape. Once he disappears back up those stairs, the lights go off and the bugs come back out to torment me further. I cry in the dark until I fall asleep.   
I wish I could remember the sun. I know what it looks like but I haven’t been outside since he took me. The light he turns off when he goes back upstairs reminds me of the sun.

I pass the time peeling my scabs. I am ugly. I will always be ugly now. 

Sometimes I’m naked. Today I’m allowed to put my old shirt back on. All of my clothes are dirty. I don’t try to clean them with the water he gives me. I drink it and don’t waste any of it. I get water sometimes, if I'm good. My stomach hurts whenever I’m awake. I wish he would let me sleep. When I wake up I cry because I am still alive. There's pain everywhere and I can’t move. It hurts to breathe. My ribs are surely bruised but I pretend they’re okay. I wish I had food to eat but I only have what he gives me. I don’t like worms. I learned my lesson the first time. If I throw up I’m forced to eat it. It has to stay down or he hits me. I gag every second of it and I cry. Nothing tastes good anymore. The basement is musty. Mold fills the air. I can’t breathe. I choke again. I can’t swallow but he makes me. I don’t like being here. I miss my dog. I wonder if she misses me too. 

. . . .

Today I have to sit at the foot of the stairs between his legs. He brushes through my knotted hair with a brush used on animals. If I flinch he hits me. It hurts so I flinch again. He keeps hitting me. My head hurts and I’m bleeding from my face. I don’t know where I just know it hurts. I wish I was strong like him. Then I'd push him back. I can see all my bones now. My hands always shake and my fingers are blue. He tells me I'm ugly but he kisses my neck. I don’t understand anything anymore. I let him kiss me and I lay on my back when he tells me to. His pants are off and so are mine. I close my eyes. I don’t want to look in his eyes, they are empty. When I scream he covers my mouth like he always does. The floor is hard underneath me. It hurts. 

When he’s bored he does cruel things to me. He's always bored these days. He ties my hands up and everything goes black when he takes my sight away with a plastic bag from the floor. I’m on my knees for hours. They’re bleeding when the bag comes off. There’s blood everywhere. I can’t seem to spit enough to rid my mouth of semen. I can smell blood in the air, but it's only because my nose is clogged with it. I’m tired and cold and I can't feel my legs. He uses my shirt to clean himself off when he's satisfied and then he throws it at me. He leaves me tied up and turns off the light. 

 

I feel nothing but shame.

. . . .

Sometimes he’s nice to me. Those days I'm happiest. I can’t smile but I’m grateful. When he’s nice he tells me about his life and his job. He says he wishes he could tell his family about me…but he says they wouldn’t understand our friendship. That they would call the police. The police scare me. Everything scares me now. He doesn’t bring out the worms today. He gives me a piece of bread. I have forgotten how to eat so he helps me. I don’t move. I’m untied but my feet are chained. I feel sick. He kisses my head and touches me in a way that even whores would resist. I don’t like where his hands are, but he tells me he loves me. I don’t push him away. I’m too afraid. I want him to be nice like this all the time.

If I was handsome like him, maybe he'd treat me better than he does…but I have come to realize that having money and a handsome face doesn’t always mean you’re pure inside. I don’t find him attractive, though he is considered to be. He is the meanest man on the face of the earth. His laugh stops my heart and his voice owns me. He is a noose around my neck. He controls me with a simple touch and I fall to my knees.

I used to think that if I behaved he wouldn't hit me but I'm wrong. Even when I am good he still hits me. So I try to be good every day and hope for the best. I was only bad a few times. I once bit him when he put his hand on me. He kicked me so I didn’t do it again. Another time he let me have milk. I spit it in his face. That was bad. I know I do bad things to him too. Sometimes I deserve what he does. 

I hope he doesn’t kill me. 

He has held as gun to my head before; more times than I have fingers on my hands. He said I had to learn. I think I’ve learned a lot now. 

I wish I could use the bathroom. I know he has one. It’s upstairs. I hear the water running through the pipes when he takes a shower in the morning. He usually showers after he is done with me. I understand because I am dirty.   
I hate when I have to pee. I try to hold it but then it hurts terribly. If I’m chained up I have to go on myself. Sometimes I use a bucket if it’s there. I’m afraid he will find out and dump it on me. 

It smells like piss and old newspaper down here. I hope upstairs smells nice. I think it does. His clothes aren’t gross like mine. He wears expensive brands I can’t pronounce the name of and so much cologne I hold my breath for as long as I can when he’s on top of me. Once his clothes are off, the smell isn’t as strong, but then I don’t have anything to distract me from the awful things he’s doing. His sticky sweat covers my body and I want nothing more than to light myself on fire. 

. . . .

I get bored a lot. I use pieces of rock to scratch out drawings on the cement. He says he likes my drawings but that they aren’t any good. He sits behind me and leads my hand. When he touches me I tremble but I’m getting better at hiding it. I am polite so he doesn’t take my rocks away. He brings me rocks from outside occasionally. I always say thank you. I don’t want to be rude. He knows these rocks bring me peace; if he's feeling generous, let’s me draw while he chains my ankles. He doesn’t ever clean the blood off the floor so I just draw around it.

. . . .

A day comes where I hear other voices upstairs. They get loud. Someone is pounding on the wall. I hear him yelling. He yells for me. He calls my name. He has never said my name before. He usually calls me things I don't wish to repeat. For some reason I’m happy he knows my name. I can’t see it but I hear the door open that leads down the creaky steps. More people are yelling and I hear fast and frantic movement all the way down the staircase. I curl up in the corner and try to make myself as small as I can. I try to be quiet but I cough and they find me.   
It’s police officers. Three of them. I hear more of them upstairs. He keeps calling my name. I know he is scared. I’m scared too. I yell for him when they pick me up. A woman puts a soft blanket on me. It feels nice but I’m still panicking. I cry for him again but he doesn’t respond. They took my only friend. I wanted to hurt them. The only friend I had known for almost nine months. I didn’t know I was gone that long, not until an officer mentions it. I thought I would die in my own piss and blood in the basement, but my prayers have finally been answered. When the police man sets me down upstairs, I throw up on the carpet. I’m embarrassed and I try to say I’m sorry. It’s an expensive carpet. I kneel down and I put my hand in my vomit to clean it. I know that I am supposed to ingest it. The lady who gave me the blanket looks horrified. She doesn’t let my hand make it to my mouth. I cough and sour bile spills out of my lips and I throw up again. 

“where is he? Where is my friend?” I ask. I look at all of them momentarily before I stare at my bare feet again. They’re filthy. 

They act like they know something that I don’t. They shake their heads and every one of them says how sorry they are. 

“He won’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.” The lady says very softly. 

I don’t fully understand. He only hurt me because I was bad sometimes. He has to teach me. I’m confused and I want to cry but I don't. I don’t feel my age at all. Right now I feel like a little boy and I’m lost. The police scare me and I can’t look at their eyes. All I see is judgement. Maybe I'm wrong. I don’t know. I can’t tell what they are thinking. They took my friend. I’m going to miss him and I don’t know why. It was hell living here, but for some sick and strange reason, I’m attached to him. I wish I could go back downstairs to my place under the old desk and sleep. I would read the newspaper under me until I fell asleep at night. I memorized it so that even when it was dark, I knew what words to repeat. 

‘Jersey city police in search of missing boy…’ 

I’m lead outside by two strong men in uniforms. I'm small compared to them. My heart is pounding. I don’t like when anyone touches me. My wrists are hurting. I’m not used to the chains being off. It feels weird. I see my captor in the back of a police car once we are standing on the front porch. The sun is so bright I cover my face with my hands and groan. I’m not wearing pants, just underwear and a shirt. I’m still embarrassed. I wave to my friend. I try to run to him. I’m crying. My legs are too weak. I haven’t ran in a long time. I collapse on the sidewalk and someone lifts me up again. My friend does nothing. He isn’t looking at me. Why does he hate me? I yell for him again and this time I’m loud enough. He looks at me. His expression is nothing. He looks sick and pale and I don’t know why. I can see he is sweating. He keeps running his hands over his face and through his hair. I think he’s nervous, I am too. The police won’t let me near him. They yell to one another about keeping me away from him. I’m put into another police car, in the backseat and the doors are locked. I can’t open the door now and I’m getting upset. I stare out the window at his house. It’s big. I can tell he spent a lot on it. How come it’s so clean? The basement I stayed in for so many months couldn’t belong to this house. Could it? I find that hard to believe. I hope he isn’t mad at me that I got sick and ruined his rug. I feel bad. I can’t stop shaking. My body is behaving so oddly. My chest hurts and my eyes are blurry from too many tears. My face feels too hot for my liking and I’m sweating too. I think I’m in trouble. I want to tell the police lady I’m sorry. I can’t breathe well and now my breathing is too fast. It’s bright outside but not overly hot. I just feel too warm. I keep coughing over and over until I can’t stop. I’m wheezing and trying to breathe. An ambulance shows up in a minute or two and the nice lady quickly opens the car door. I weigh so little even she can carry me. I’m still scared but she holds me really tight and I have a memory of my mom. I love my mom. She tells me I have to let go and she sets me in the back of the ambulance in a bed with wheels. I think it’s called a stretcher. I start to hyperventilate when they strap me in. The paramedics look at each other and the lady tells them to loosen the restraints. I look at her and she smiles at me. For some reason her eyes are watery like mine. I don’t smile but I say thank you. I don’t think she could hear me. I start to feel weak again and my eyes close even though this time I don’t want them to. I can still hear some but I know the routine of going unconscious and it’s happening right now. The voices of the police and everyone else get jumbled and the world is fuzzy now. I black out. I don’t know what will happen. I feel a certain way that I do not know. I miss my friend. Why do I miss him? He hurt me but I miss him. I almost wish he would hold me like he did when he was pleased with me. I hope he isn’t mad at me. I didn’t tell anyone anything. I didn’t know the police would take me. I'm so afraid.


	3. Maybe I'm A Mess

. . . . 

I don’t want to be here. I hate this room. I hate everyone in it. It’s only me.   
I wish I didn’t open my eyes cause I know where I am and I hate it. At least there’s sunlight. I hardly saw the sun when I was in the basement. It hurts my eyes now. I wish I didn’t hate something I used to love. These white sheets wrapped around me make me feel gross. I’m too dirty for these nice things. I haven’t had a shower for weeks. I don’t like being naked. I never did but now I hate it. I hate everything now. Except my puppy, I love my puppy. I hope she’s okay. I wish I would’ve gotten to say goodbye to her. She probably thinks I don’t like her anymore but I do. I love her very much. I hope she remembers me and knows she’s my best friend.  
My arms feel heavy and when I try to lift them they drop back down to my sides lifelessly. I'm having difficulty keeping my eyelids from dropping. I know I've been drugged. I just want to know why and who did it. I hope he hasn’t come back to kill me. I don’t want to die yet, I have to see my puppy first.   
The sun is bothering me so much that I pull the sheets over my face. It’s easy for me to ignore the wires and IVs in my arms. I’ve learned to live with sleeping uncomfortably. It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it. I wish I hadn't though. I wish I was still a normal boy. But I know I’m not. I know that I can’t ever be a normal boy again. It makes me sad. I’m sad a lot. I cry more than I used to. My head is all messed up most days now and I hope they can tell me how to fix it. I’m not scared of hospitals now. I’ve gone to them my whole life. I have things wrong with me, things that were there before he took me. Before I got put in the basement, I was doing real good. I took my pills everyday and I was happy and I smiled too. Everything was bright and it didn’t hurt my eyes those times. I saw colors everywhere I went. I know I was sad deep inside, but the pills I was given made it all disappear. I had learned to love life during those days. I saw everything with innocence. I don’t anymore though. There’s something about hearing your own rape that cuts you so deep you just can't bleed anymore. You go numb. Then when it happens everyday for what seems to be the last days of your life, you don’t fear death. It’ll take away the pain. I would pray every night that it would be my last.

Doctors appear in my room. I didn’t look. I heard them at the door before they even opened it. My hearing is very sensitive now. I hear everything, even when I'm not engaged. I don’t know why. I still wish he had cut off my ears. I counted their footsteps, I knew they’d be in here in less than a minute. It doesn’t take too long before one of them starts asking me questions I don’t know the answers to. I want to turn off my mind and never speak again. I don’t remember how to form words right now so I don’t try. I’m still shaking. I can’t stop. I hope it stops some day. When I laid in the basement I would think of the nights when I had a bed, back at my house when I was a kid. My mom would read me a bedtime story and tuck me in after she made sure I brushed my teeth. I feel bad cause I usually lied and said I did, but I didn’t. I didn't cause when mom left the room after saying goodnight, dad would sneak me a cookie or two. I hope she knows I really wanted to obey her but I wanted the cookie more. Sorry mom.   
Sometimes I had to pretend that the hard cement floor was my bed and that it was warm, too. It didn’t help much. Pretending. But, I got good at pretending it helped. I got so good that when he touched me it was like I didn’t feel it. If he let me keep my eyes closed, I'd pretend I was just asleep, and was only having a nightmare. When he stopped, and went back upstairs, it was only then that I'd open my eyes and would reassure myself it was all just another bad dream. I had these nightmares frequently. Except they weren’t just at night, and I wasn’t always asleep when I had them. They occurred every day. In the morning, the evening, night time, whenever he felt like it. I’m his. I’m nothing. 

One of the nurses looks at the doctor and he steps forward. I pulled the sheets tighter around me. I only wish I felt safe. It didn’t take much to make me nervous now.

“Mr. Iero… If you’re feeling up to it, we'd like to have you speak with a psychologist.” 

“I’m not feeling up to it. “ I said, cause I wasn’t. I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to disappear. 

The other nurse seemed nice, but I didn’t like the doctor. He was looking at me and I'm sure analyzing my every move. I made sure not to move again. I just sat there and stared at my arms. They were scratched and bruised. I hadn’t noticed until now that I had an assortment of stitches. They were itchy. I’m used to being itchy. I need a bath. I can still feel everything. Nothing feels the same. I know that it never will again. I’m so hungry but I can’t eat. My stomach keeps growling so loud it’s making it hard to focus on anything the doctor is saying. I cover my ears but I hear him sigh. He shakes his head and mumbles something to one of the nurses. I’m sure they think I’m hopeless. I am. No matter how many pills they give me or days I spend with a therapist, I know they can’t do anything. No one can. I’m alone. Each time I try to breathe it feels as if there’s a heavy weight on my chest. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning. I’m always drowning. 

“Is there anything we can do for you to make your stay more comfortable..?” The nurse asks, she has a softer tone than the doctor. I don’t look at her, I can’t, but I nod. I haven’t heard myself speak without my voice shaking since I met him. I'm not going to cry. The lady gets closer to me and I can’t help but distance myself. Being physically close to anyone makes my chest tight and I can’t help it that I curl in on myself each time it happens. 

“yeah…I…I um…Can I have um…the tv on?” 

“Of course, dear… Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.” 

She looks at me like I’m a dog at a shelter that’s about to be euthanized. I don’t like seeing such pity in people’s eyes when they look at me now. They’ll never look at me the same. I’m no longer a person to these people, I’m only a victim. I used to be so much more.   
The nurse turns the tv on for me and I wait until she leaves the room to lift my head. I don’t know why I do that. I can’t look at people anymore. I just can't. I don’t like seeing their eyes and what’s in them. It gives me goosebumps and makes my skin crawl. I feel sick at the thought of talking to a psychologist. Right now I’m just tired and hungry. I want to distract myself so badly that I force myself to watch the tv. I’m not even registering what’s on it, I just stare at the screen in a drugged daze.   
I wonder why my mom hasn’t come to see me. I know I’m an adult, but she always makes me feel better. I hope she wasn’t too worried about me. I was gone awhile, but I’m back now. I hope that when she does come, and she sees me, she doesn’t cy. I know she will, but I hope she doesn’t. I don’t look the same. I’m not the same. I can’t look at myself anymore. The last time I saw myself was in broken glass. It was all over the floor. I picked pieces of glass out of my hands and feet for a day. Even when I had woken up the day after, it was still there. I slept in it that night. I was too exhausted to move. It gave me something to do though, until he came back down to yell some more. I don’t know what I did that morning to make him so upset. He yelled at me for an eternity and when he was done he kicked me in the ribs. I stayed down. I had learned then, that when I was hit or kicked, not to resist. I had stopped trying to prevent anything from happening to me. Maybe it’s because I'd given up, or maybe I was just so use to it that it was normal. I don’t know what to think about it now. Every time I fall asleep, I’m terrified. I don’t want to wake up in that basement ever again. I don’t want to wake up at all. I want to sleep forever until this nightmare is over. 

I waited some time before my mom arrived. By then it was dark. I'd been given food and offered a shower. I couldn’t stomach anything. I hardly eat much anyway now, so I wasn’t surprised that I threw up again when I tried to eat my sandwich. Everything leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I wish I could rip out my tongue and toss it into the bin with my bloody bile. I'm still not sure why there’s been blood in my vomit. I think the doctor said I have an infection. I’m sick. I'm really sick. I don’t have to be told that to know, cause I feel disgusting inside and out. I begin to feel nauseated again. I feel the movement of bugs on my bare skin and worms crawling through my intestines. Maybe it’s all in my head. The bugs would’ve been long digested by now. But I always sense them. I feel their presence no matter how much I puke. They’re always there. I feel I’ll never rid my body of them. I can throw up for a life time and they never leave my stomach. I feel gross. The shower didn’t help. I hated being so wet and naked. I know someone was waiting so close, behind the curtain, to make sure I was okay and to save me if I passed out from exertion. I'm relieved l never did fall, I just lowered myself to the tiles of the floor and let the water wash over me. My back hurt so terribly but the warm water was a soothing touch I hadn't received in months. I was almost human down on the floor with my eyes closed. Almost. When I close my eyes I'm almost safe and I’m almost convinced I am loved.   
It was about twenty minutes after the shower that my mom showed up to see me. She wasn’t all there. I know my disappearance had aged her. I could see it in the bags under her eyes and the strands of grey hair I didn’t remember she had. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know what to say. When she hugged me my world shattered and we both wept. I wanted to push her away, keep her safe from anything I might be contaminated with, but I know even then she'd come back stronger with open arms and would kiss my dirty hair. I never wanted anyone to see me like this. At times I never wanted to be found, not while I was in a state worse than an animal. 

Mom tells me she loves me and I can only give more tears, I have nothing left but them. I held them in my skull behind my eyes for all those months and now I set them free in her arms. I don’t like crying.   
“Everything will be okay. I love you. You’re safe.”

Everyone kept telling me I was finally safe now, but I hadn’t believed anyone until my mom said the words to me. I had thought I'd never see her again. We weren’t as close as a mom and her kid could be, but we loved each other. I think I was all she had since dad left and I didn’t have many friends. I probably wouldn’t have friends for a long time now, but that’s okay.   
“When can we go home? I don’t want to be here right now…” I said as quietly possible. I can’t speak loudly anymore. I’m for some reason I'm cautious of everything that exists and I trust no one. 

“I’m sure we can go home soon… The doctors just want to make sure you’re doing okay, okay?” My mom responded just as gently as I'd spoken. I hope she doesn’t view me as a burden now. I'll do whatever I can to contribute. I just hope I no longer have to leave the house. I don’t know if I can help with laundry anymore. The washing machine is in the basement. Basements make me ill. 

“When we get home I want to see Sweat Pea and then go to sleep.” 

“You can do that for as long as you’d like.” 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, honey…” 

I can sense my mom is going to cry again. Instead of offering her a tissue from the box on the nightstand, I just sit frozen and like the coward I've been molded into, I cannot move. My limbs feel ten times too heavy and I can’t force myself to hold her or try to comfort her as she does for me. I'm trying to play my game again. The game where I pretend I’m okay and my problems are no more. I can’t speak and I can’t move. I’m stuck. My heart beats but I don’t feel a thing. 

“I’m sorry, mom…”   
I felt I owed her an apology. It was obvious she spent most nights restlessly. I did too, so I understood. 

“Oh, no, Frank… Don’t think for a second this is your fault. It’s not. I don’t want to hear you say that ever again…”   
My mom took my hand in hers, squeezed it, and then buried her face in her hands after releasing mine. I wish I could agree. That this wasn’t my fault; yeah, I didn’t choose for this to happen to me, but she was in complete distress. And it was because of me. All of this is because I was missing. 

. . . . 

I was told by the doctor that I'd have to spend the night here so they could finish a few more tests and get me some medicine and all that shit I didn’t really care about right now. They said I'd lost half my body weight and that my electrolyte balance was one of the lowest they'd seen. 

“People in your condition won’t live for long if they don’t receive medical help immediately,” were the doctor's words as he checked my respiratory system. My heart was weak and my lungs felt like I inhaled a forest fire.   
“You’re lucky to be alive.” He added, peering at me over the thick lenses of his glasses. He draped the stethoscope around his neck where it laid limp while he finished the physical examination that left me feeling even more violated. He had to check for fractures or anything that might result in my death. I felt like a walking corpse. I wouldn't be surprised if he told me I was dying. He wasn’t the most polite man, but I had a feeling he meant well and wanted to see his patients health improve.   
I had no clue how to respond to him cause how do you find words to when you’re told you were only days away from possible death? I felt like death. Looked like it too. My cheek bones showed way too prominently for anyone’s liking and my hands were skeletal. My hair was disgusting. It had grown to my shoulders, and was brittle and stringy. This was the first time I'd had a proper shower since I was taken. One that involved soap and hot water. Not just a bucket of old piss or alcohol dumped over my head to wake me up. I tuned out anything else the doctor or the nurses were saying about my deteriorating health. At one point my mom began crying again and had to leave the room. I’m so sorry to her. To everyone. I might be naïve about certain subjects, but I’m not stupid. At least I didn’t think I was stupid for a long time until now. After that day I never really felt smart again. Look at all the pain and suffering I’ve caused all because I trusted a man with a car to keep his word. I wish I would've gone the extra ten minutes it took to get to my house, which would’ve only gotten me my mom's disapproving face, instead of trading my usual route for nine months in hell that cost me the rest of my life. I have no dignity. No confidence. I'm ruined beyond repair. 

Once everything had calmed down, and I was settled in for the night, I tried to count the passing seconds in the dark in hopes it would keep me awake long enough to forget before I fell asleep. I haven’t had a full night's rest in what felt like years. I doubt tonight will be any different. Nightmares and flashbacks are all that my mind has to offer. I can’t get myself out of that basement and I can’t throw away the memories of his tongue or his hands and what they did to me.   
My mom was asleep on the small couch in my hospital room. I could hear her breathing steadily and it almost eased my oncoming panic attack. I won't allow myself to wake her. She deserves to rest. She hasn’t for as long as I was gone. Her hair was messy when she met me today, which only proves further, how much she loves me. My mom would never leave the house looking less than perfect- but today she did. To see me. She had looked short of a mental breakdown and I hardly recognized her, but I know she probably felt the same once she saw me. I had been cleaned up some by then, and my worst wounds were stitched up or attended to in such a way that there was no longer blood and puss leaking from them. I had also had a shower and they let me brush my hair and teeth. It felt so unusual. My hygiene was awful, like I'd spent my life in a prison camp. There wasn’t anything he'd left untouched. He ruined me; all the way from my mind to my knees. Unlike the dried blood which was so easily washed down the drain with the shampoo, the bruises didn’t vanish. I’m afraid they won’t for a week. I have a lot of scars, too. He did things to me that are so wrong I'm sick to my stomach when I see one of the scars and remember how it got there. He has a lot of sharp things and I was his cutting board when he wanted to use them.   
Even though I’m no longer chained or bound he owns me and my thoughts. He controls my life now.

It's pitch black in here. The only lights came from my heart monitor and the slit from underneath the closed door. I hate the dark. I wish I would’ve asked the nurse to leave the lights on, but I didn’t want to be selfish and keep my poor mom awake any more. I can’t sleep again, but that’s okay. I’ll try tomorrow. I just want to go home. I want to sit in my bedroom and look out the window. I can see the whole world from up there without having to go out into it. It’s amazing. I think that once I get out of here, I’m gonna sit in my bed and watch the sun come up each day. I haven’t seen the sun in so long. I forgot how much warmth it offers. I don’t feel as cold inside. I don’t want to hate it anymore.   
I think sunlight is one of the greatest gifts in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who's reading♡


	4. Spider Man and The Prettiest Boy In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4!  
> This chapter I really love so I hope you guys do too♡

I was released from the hospital yesterday evening. I was sent home with a shit load of new medication that I don’t want to take. I spoke to so many police officers that after awhile they all blended in to one person and I just robotically answered questions. It was an uncomfortable experience and I don’t want to see another cop for a decade. The therapists were persistent too. I think they were trying to cure me in a day. Like they thought I was some piece of equipment that could be molded into repair if they just tried hard enough. At the end of the day they get to throw in the towel, take their gloves off and go back to a life they love, while I’m still just a broken piece on a shelf. Forgotten. Everyone tries to fix me so they feel they’ve done their good deed for the day. They pack up and go home and I’m still just as broken as when they started trying to mend me.  
I’m still sick. I’m still suicidal. I’m surprised I was discharged, but the doctor said I was clear of all infections and that the antibiotics would ‘have me feeling better in no time.’ Wish he was right about that. Seeing my dog for the first time last night was a better feeling than all the Xanax in the world. I had fallen asleep in my bed for the first time, too. It was surreal. If I hadn’t been so out of it from all the pills, I would’ve cried in joy.  
. . . .

I’m not recovered. I’m not even in the process of recovering. I just wake up and try to live until I go back to sleep. My heads a mess, like everything else. I can’t say anything feels better, cause it doesn’t. I can’t talk. I dunno why. I have stuff I want to say but I don’t have any words. Every second I’m awake I'm conscious of him. I can’t stop thinking about what he did. I feel gross all the time. No matter how many showers I take or shampoo bottles I empty, I'm destined to feel this way forever. To relive my nightmare over and over and over again. Even though I’ve been found, I’m still so lost beyond words. I want to get my old self back, but I’m afraid I’m already gone.

The next morning I woke up late, it was almost 1 in the afternoon. I hadn’t slept in my bed for nine months and it felt amazing to finally have warm blankets and a pillow. Mom wasn’t home. She usually left for work around 8am and probably didn’t want to disturb me to say goodbye. I knew she'd be back later. Her car was gone from the driveway and she left the coffee pot on. There were some dirty dishes in the sink and a note on the counter that said she loved me. I know she still has to work, it’s just me and her now, we need the money. I just dislike being alone, but I’ve grown comfortable with it. My house feels so empty. It is, considering I’m not really here. Everything’s too clean, like I was never missing. We don’t have the perfect home, but it’s tidy. It’s quiet now that dad’s gone. The tv was usually on. Sometimes we spoke about things like sports or music. I would watch the news with him and he'd laugh at all the politicians trying to be somebody. It made me laugh too. Sometimes when he was in a real good mood, after he came home from work, we'd throw my old baseball around. I caught it at a game. The first and last baseball game my dad ever took me to. It was awesome. Back then, the crowds, cheering, and small space, didn’t bother me. It bothers me now. It bothers me a lot. I remember one night, my dad got off work early. It was a Saturday. I knew him and mom were having problems by then, but I pretended I didn’t. It was Summer and he showed me how to use the grill. I got pretty good at it. I even made like a whole package of hotdogs without his help. After he finished grilling, me, him, and my mom all sat out on our back porch till the sun set. We helped mom clean the dishes off the outdoor table, then me and dad went back outside to sit in the dark and watch the fireflies. The whole sky seemed to light up each year when they came around. I always liked fireflies. Even in the dark, they always shone so brightly you couldn’t miss them. As we sat out there on the folding chairs, my dad watched me. I didn’t look at him for awhile, I looked at the sky. But I could see he was looking at me out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to him, he smiled at me, wrinkles forming by his eyes and he had a kindness in them I'd never seen; or maybe it was always there but I'd just never paid enough attention to notice it. 

“I love you, son. Hope you know that.” 

I hadn’t always known my dad loved me. Cause well sometimes, I was real bad. But wasn’t every kid? Sometimes I stole a dollar outta his wallet when he wasn’t looking or broke a window with my football and lied about it, blaming the cat we didn’t have. But damn. I had never been so sure of someone’s love for me up until then. 

“Love you too, dad.” I had said, returning a bit of a smile. I was happy. We were both so happy. 

Then he left. Just like that. The next morning I had gotten up super early to go play with my baseball before church, even showered. I forgot to brush my teeth though. When I went to the kitchen with my ball, mom was on the phone. She didn’t sound happy. Not at all. And she didn’t have her pretty Sunday dress on either. She was in her pajamas and her face was red, like she'd been crying or something. 

“Mom. Where’s dad?” 

She didn’t answer me, she turned her back and acted like I wasn’t even there. That made me mad cause I was really trying to be respectful. I don’t know who she was talking to, or why it was so important she couldn’t answer me. 

“Mom-“ I asked again, “where’s dad?!” 

“Your father isn’t here! And he’s not coming back.” 

I don’t know what I said after that. I don’t even remember. I just remember I dropped my ball and never picked it up again that day. Or the day after. It might still be laying by the kitchen counter on the floor after all these years. I know it’s not though. I don’t know what happened that morning, or why dad left. We didn’t go to church. Mom had turned away from me after she yelled at me. She had tears running down her face and her eyes were so blurry I felt like I was staring into a muddy river. I was only twelve at the time, but everything I had known was a lie and I hated my parents. I hated my mom. I hated my dad. I really hated him so bad. My eyes were just like my mom’s then, and I couldn’t hold back tears. I ran out of the house through the back door and onto the deck, then straight towards the fence. I jumped it and didn’t look back. We'd lived in a house then, unlike the apartment we have now. I can’t remember where I went, I just ran. I ran until my chest hurt and I couldn’t run anymore. When I stopped, I hunched over to catch what was left of my breath, and I cried so hard I thought I'd cough up my lungs. Why’d he leave? Why'd he say he loved me? I was so confused. It hurt. I’m over it now. But it hurt then. Still does sometimes. 

I miss my dad. 

I wonder if he was here, how much easier this whole thing would be. At least then I'd have someone else in the apartment with me…But even if I had my dad now, I know for sure there’s unfortunately nothing he could say that would make me feel less disgusting. I need to get away from it all. Everything. All of this. What should be so familiar is now foreign to me. My home. My street. My thoughts. It all feels so wrong. It might not ever be right again.  
Instead of staying inside where it’s dark, and reminiscing about the past, I force myself to get changed and I leave the safety of my home and venture out into the world. I won’t be gone too long, but just in case I were to be taken again, I leave a note for mom, telling her I love her too, and not to worry about me. I grab a jacket that used to fit, from the closet by the front door. All my clothes are too big now and even my belts won’t stay fastened long enough for me to forget why they don’t fit in the first place. As I'm tying my shoes my stomach growls. I quickly try to silence it by pressing hard into my abdomen. It quiets down some, and I sigh in relief. But then I find myself feeling stupid and numb when I glance over my shoulder, waiting for him to appear with the box, only to remember he's not here. He’s in jail. I break out in a cold sweat, my vision is blurring and my head is getting heavy and everything feels hot. My stomach keeps growling because I’m so hungry and I run to grab a water bottle to put a stop to it. I can’t let him hear me. I feel like he knows. What if he is here? I chug the water so fast I almost choke, but I finish the entire thing. I'll be in for a real dilemma sooner or later when I have to pee. I'll hold it as long as possible until I can go without anyone hearing me. I’ll hold it until it hurts- But then it strikes me again. He’s not here. He isn’t watching me. I’m free. 

Am I, though? 

Even if my stomach keeps growling, I think it’ll be okay now. He isn’t here to make it stop anymore. He can’t put anything inside of me. I don’t have to drink until I feel sick, just so he can’t hear that I’m hungry. He always heard everything. If I tried to drink water without permission, and he heard, I didn’t wake up for a few hours, and when I did I usually had a black eye.  
I shudder at the thought of eating. I can’t. The fridge is tempting but the memories of throwing up shoot down any feelings of hunger that are clawing their way up my throat. At least everything’s quiet again. As it should be. When it’s quiet, I feel safe.

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here in front of the fridge, clutching my empty water bottle so tightly that it’s all misshapen- but it’s been about ten minutes, I see this on the clock on the microwave. 

“shit-“  
I always whisper now. I can’t help it. 

I toss my empty bottle into the trashcan under the sink, then wash my hands. I dry them on my jeans and then go outside for real this time.  
I lock the door behind me, and as I do, I feel my hands vibrating and my lips are quivering. I cover my mouth, biting down on my hand, hoping I don’t look so weird.  
It’s the middle of August. It’s hot and dry. The sidewalk outside of the little black fence is cracked and the grass looks like it needs a watering. We don’t live in a bad neighborhood- or so I had thought.  
I take a deep breath and then put one foot in front of the other, heading all the way down the block. I don’t lift my head as I walk. My arms stay wrapped around my torso and I’m hurrying for no reason other than I want to be a step away from my last. I keep walking until it’s unbearable. I wish I brought my wallet, but then I remember I don’t have it anymore. I don’t have my drivers license or my bank card. Those got lost when I did, and I dunno where he put them, or if he even kept them. He did break my phone, though. Mom says we’ll get my cards renewed and that she'll buy me a new phone, but I’m in no hurry to get back on social media.  
I stop outside a small shop that says ‘open’ in neon flashing letters. There are posters of Batman and Joker plastered on the front window and the door, so that makes me feel at ease. I step inside to realize I've entered a comic book store. It’s so much cooler inside, the air must be on full blast. There are bean bag chairs spread out everywhere, and lots of colorful tables and chairs. Next to them, books shelves are lined up one by one, forming a straight aisle. I smile at the action figures on display in the glass case by the register. If I had money, I'd get that Spiderman one. I try not to let all the figurines and bright colors distract me, I’m here for one thing, and one thing only. I need to get a drink. That, and I seriously need to pee. It’s so frustrating how things that were so simple, are now so hard. I ditch the thought of asking the lady behind the counter for bathroom directions, and just wander up and down the small aisles until I spot the bathroom. Right beside the bathroom door is a drinking fountain. Even better.  
I take a really long drink from the fountain, no one else is behind me so I take my time. Once I’m done, I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket and turn towards the bathroom door. I already feel defeated, but I rule out wetting myself and turn the door knob. I’m lucky they have one person restrooms or else I couldn’t do it.  
. . . .

I kinda wanna stick around here for awhile. It seems peaceful enough, but my anxiety is getting bad. Like really bad. I can’t ever seem to drink enough water to keep my throat from constricting. I see a clock on the wall in the shape of Darth Vader’s helmet, and that’s pretty cool. So I try to focus on that. I soon wind up in a bean bag chair with a Spider Man comic, probably being held too tightly for the liking of the store owner, considering I can’t afford to buy it right now.  
I’ve always liked Spider Man. He saves people and they think he's a hero, but he’s just a normal guy like all of them. I wish I was like Spider Man, but sadly for me I'm just a normal guy without the hero part. When I can concentrate, reading takes my mind off my reality and I just exist for a little while, unnoticed. It’s nice.  
As I’m sitting with my comic, I accidentally begin eavesdropping on the conversation the shop keeper is having with an employee. I begin to get more involved in listening to them talking, then I am with my book. 

“I'm sorry, Gerard, but I can’t keep letting you off early all the time…We're short staffed as it is right now.” 

 

The lady doesn’t sound pleased, but I don’t look up to see if she is or not. I can’t look at people. At least, I think I can’t, until I hear the employee’s response and I almost immediately snap my neck just to see who the voice belongs to. It’s a guy, but his back is facing me and I can’t see what he looks like, which is perfect because I don’t wanna make eye contact. 

“Please! I’m not slacking off- I swear! It’s… It’s my mom. She’s real sick, the doctor says it came back. She has cancer again. She might die…” 

My heart sinks in my chest. Cancer..? That’s sad. If my mom had cancer, I don’t know what I'd do… I’d just make sure to tell her everyday that I love her and remind her how special she is. 

I hear the woman sigh. She doesn’t sound annoyed, just disappointed. 

“Alright, I think we can work something out... You’re free to go after you make sure all the shelves are stocked and nothin’s outta place.” 

“Really..? Thank you so much! I’m… I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

Just as he was about to turn around, I ducked back down and stuck my nose in my comic. I already felt chills down my spine at knowing I could’ve been caught listening in on something so private. But I was about the only person here now and it was, according to that Darth Vader clock, almost dinner time. I'd better hurry up and finish Spider Man while I still had the chance. I was nearing the last page when I heard foot steps that sounded like they had no intention of stopping, approaching my direction.  
Oh no. 

“Hey- uh, sorry to break it to you, but we're closing up an hour early tonight. Sorry.” 

It was him. Well- not him him, but the guy with the sick mom. 

I could hardly respond, let alone lift my gaze to meet his. When I finally managed to, I was glad I did.  
I’ve never really known if I liked girls or boys. I hadn’t ever gotten the chance to get to know any that I really liked, but even then it wasn’t all that important to me.  
But this boy. 

He was so beautiful. 

“Um- sorry man, I dunno if you heard me- but we’re closed.” 

“Oh- oh uh yeah… My bad... I’m um I’m…sorry.” 

I was already humiliated enough. I didn’t need my stuttering acting up to make it worse. 

But he didn’t laugh at me. He just smiled. He had a really comforting smile. It seemed… genuine. Unlike the man I'd gotten to know too well. When he smiled, it was enough for me to piss myself or puke. Or both.  
But…when this guy smiled at me. I felt it right in my broken heart.

I didn’t look too deeply or too long, but his eyes were wide and the light made them look like they were glistening. His eyelashes were so long and feminine but they suited his face. His face was really soft, so were his features, but like in a good way. His skin looked soft, too. It was super pale, like he didn't get out much. And his hair was black and messy, like the eyeliner smudged underneath his waterline. His nose was really cute, I can’t describe it any other way. Just really damn cute.  
His lips were pink. They were so pretty. He was so pretty. I almost didn’t feel so gross in his presence. He didn’t seem like the type that would think so highly of himself that he'd judge me for being nervous. He sounded nervous too. Sad and nervous. 

“Oh- no don’t be sorry. We're usually open till five or six, but uh… some stuff came up and we're closing early for the day. But we can still check you out before we call it a night.” 

He was being so nice to me. I didn’t know why. What was his reasoning other than being a good employee? 

“T-Thank you but uh, I’ll just leave it here…”  
I stood up slowly, gripping the pages. It was so wrinkled now I felt guilty when I tried to give it back. My legs felt ready to give out and I had to clench my jaw so my teeth didn’t chatter. I’m a mess. 

The boy looked confused. He stared at the comic and then at me. I was waiting for a comment about how I looked like a crack addict or even just a joking tone of ‘you look like you drank a whole pot of coffee.’ Something like that. But it never came. Instead, he just waved to the clerk. 

“Hey- Jamia? Can you ring up a Spider verse comic before I go?” 

I didn’t know what to do. I just watched him. He headed towards the counter and she nodded, scanning it. He paid for it and then came back to where he was standing in front of me. 

“Here ya go.” 

I just shook my head. 

“I… I can’t take this… I just um I don’t have my wallet…um or any cash right now. But thank you for offering-“ 

“No, it’s okay. I'd hate for you to leave it here without finishing it. It’s an epic story, promise.” 

He kept insisting, hands extended too closely, but not by any other means than that he was really adamant about me keeping it. Maybe a little excited, too. 

“Okay. I’ll take it… Thank you very much… I wish I could like uh pay you back er something-“  
I mumbled, running my fingers over the cover. The artwork was amazing. 

The boy just laughed slightly, “No need to. Just promise me you’ll finish it, it’s such a good comic. Trust me.” 

I nodded again, a little slower and more controlled. I was still petrified, but I didn’t think he’d hurt me.  
He was so pretty and I just wanted to look at him for a little longer, but I knew we had to get going. He tucked his hair behind his ear and slung the book bag over his shoulder that he'd been carrying since he walked up to me. “Well… nice meeting you, but I’ve really gotta go… Maybe I’ll see you around here again?”  
He seemed hopeful and I was taken by surprise that anyone would hope to see me. 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Sure… I uh live- just… well, I’m a little lost, but I live around here. Somewhere…”  
Damn it. I really didn’t want to go home on foot when it was nearing nighttime. 

“You okay..? I mean… If you don’t live too far, I could give you a ride-“ 

That was too much for me. I could accept a comic from a stranger but never a ride.  
“No. No, that’s fine. I’ll call my mom on the payphone- I have a couple quarters in my pocket. Thanks though-“ 

“Okay. Have a nice night-“ he was chewing his nails now, like he was embarrassed. His cheeks were the same color as his lips. It was kinda cute. 

I waved briefly, hardly being able to think straight. I can’t be stuck walking in the dark. I can’t. 

I hope I didn’t seem like an asshole, but I got outta there as fast as I could. I’d come back soon though. How could I not? The boy I met here was the prettiest boy I've ever seen in my life. A beautiful distraction to the shitty life I was living. 

I wanted to put ribbons in his hair and have him all to myself and love him. 

I'm going to come see him again tomorrow. 

. . . .

My mom came to pick me up just in time. I’m relieved she answered her phone straight away, but I think she always expects the worst now. She answers her phone like it’s life or death; my life or death. She worries she'll never see me again. Whenever she looks at me now, it’s like she’s trying to capture the moment forever, like she's taking a mental picture and storing it in her mind because she fears of losing me all over again. I love my mom. 

I’ve been hiding out in the payphone booth across from the comic book store. I feel safer in here than I do out in the open. I watched the pretty boy I'd spoken with leave the shop and get into his car. He drove away and all I hoped for was that I could see him again. The second I see my mom's car driving up I run with everything in me even though it’s such a short distance I could have walked. I grip the door handle like my life depends on it and pull the door open with such adrenaline my mom is staring at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. 

“Hey.” Is all I manage through panting and catching my breath. I slide into the passenger seat and slam the door behind me. I lock it and then yank my seat belt across my chest and hear it click in place. The sun still shines but it’ll be setting in just a few hours. I know I have some daylight left before the dark washes over, but I didn’t want to be waiting around outside long enough for it to happen when I wasn’t at home.  
“Is everything okay?” My mom asks, pulling away from the curb where she'd picked me up. She’s got her eyes on the road ahead but manages to glance my direction every few seconds. She’s got an expression on her face that I hate seeing because I know she’s convinced I'm in some sort of trouble. I’m not.  
I finally stop checking over my shoulder out of habit and then exhale. Relief subsides in me and I feel better than I did standing out there for the time it took her to reach me. All I had done was nervously wring my hands and wait. That poor comic book was so wrinkled it looked like a ruffles potato chip or something. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure? Nothing happened you aren’t telling me? I need you to be honest with me now, Frank, no secrets, okay?” 

“I said I’m okay. For real. Just a little paranoid, that’s all.” 

“Alright… Was today okay? I’m going to take some time off soon, I promise, I have to get enough for the next months rent and then I’ll be home with you for awhile.” 

“It was okay. It’s okay. I miss you.” 

Mom’s voice falters as she says she misses me too. She says she’s so sorry she has to work and that her asshole boss should cut her some slack. I nod in agreement cause he should. Bills have piled up while I was gone and since the divorce she’s worked too many jobs with not enough pay. We're always trying to make ends meet.  
At this point I’m just listening to her ramble, but I'm not able to have much of a well rounded conversation. Her presence alone is enough to ease my nerves, so I don’t talk as much as I would have before. But I listen, though. I’m always listening to everything now.  
I lean my head against the window and watch the scenery pass by in the forms of little cafés and apartment buildings. It’s all a blur to me. Streets all look the same and the people are just faceless bodies hustling through the bars and strip malls without a care in the world. The glass of the window feels hot from absorbing sun all day while parked in a car lot. I like to imagine mom had a good day at work. I know she didn’t from the way she keeps rubbing her forehead, but I like to pretend she did.  
We finally park at the place we call home on the street that doesn’t feel familiar. I can see houses just across the street from here and wish that dad was around. I wonder if he knew I was missing. Did he see on the news? He always liked watching the news.  
Once we’re inside, without a word I go to my room and close the door. I look at the dust collected on all my belongings and how my desk still has old homework on it. My action figures haven’t changed stances and are still holding their miniature guns. I saw my room last night, but last night I only slept. I didn’t look at anything but my bed and the pillow where my face was buried. Seeing everything in the daylight gives me a form of nostalgia that leaves tears staining my face. I want to tear the posters off the walls and rip them to pieces. I want to set the memories of this life on fire and leave them in a pit to burn until the flame goes out forever and remains nothing but ashes.  
I sit at the foot of my bed and keep wiping my eyes. Sobs are convulsing through my body and each time I try to breathe I choke on my tears. I have snot and saliva running down my face that I make no effort to wipe away. My mind is filling with scenes I don’t want to relive. I can’t breathe. I'm so cold that the heat I'm feeling in my chest from running out of air is inviting.  
I don’t ever look up from my spot on the bed but I feel my mom's arms around me and I just sob like I never have before. I can barely get a word out, trying to is useless. Mom just hushes me with love in her voice and presses her lips to my forehead. She’s humming a hyme from church and holding me like I'm about to fall into a million pieces. As she began to sing to me I felt my body grow limp. 

This was never what I'd wanted. 

“He ruined my entire fucking life.”  
I sobbed harder through gritted teeth. I want to dissolve through the bed and into the floor and disappear. 

Even the gentle touch of my mom he had destroyed. I can’t be touched without remembering him and how it felt. I let her hold me because inside I know she needed it, but my skin was being sliced away from the bone. I want to die. 

My mom hadn’t loosened her grip until I went silent. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I needed a shower. 

“Do you need some time alone..?” Mom finally asked, releasing me to dry her eyes.  
I just nodded. 

She nodded in response, painfully rising to her feet and trying to collect herself again. 

“I’ll get dinner started… Just come down if you feel like it. Get some rest, honey…” 

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I can’t eat anymore, so I just said I was going to take a shower and that I'd come down later.  
She left the room with glassy eyes and a forced smile that I know was an attempt to console me. 

Once she left, the room died again. It was lifeless. I don’t want to ever cry in front of my mom ever again. I won't. 

Showering feels good. Now that I don’t have a nurse checking in on me I can relax. This is my second shower since being released and it’s something I won't take for granted ever again. I can still see what I’m sure is dirt, going down the drain with the water and shampoo. I’m still so dirty. When I had taken a shower at the hospital I washed dried blood and lice out of my hair for the entirety of it until I was too weak to even stand. I turned the water off and stepped out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around my waist and standing in front of the mirror. I don’t even recognize the person staring back at me. I want to feel more like myself. I leave the bathroom and head for my desk. My scissors are still exactly where I left them in the drawer, untouched.  
I’m in front of the bathroom mirror again. Holding the scissors firmly I begin to cut away at my hair. It had grown too long for my liking and was just another reminder of what happened. It wasn’t this way cause I wanted it to be. Pieces of hair littered the bathroom sink and floor as I stepped back to check my work. It looked okay. It was still wet, but after I dried it with a towel, it at least looked presentable. I brushed all the hair into the trashcan and shook the rug out as well. I turned the lights off and went back to my room to get dressed. I put on a few layers of t-shirts and some pajama pants. Everything is exactly how I left it and it’s almost eerie. I lay down in bed on top of the comforter, staring out the window. I don’t know when I’ll adjust to being free. I hear scratching against my door and shoot up from my bed. I smile for the first time, almost forgetting how horrible I felt. I open the door to see my dog, Sweet Pea, staring up at me. She’s barking and wagging her tail. She looks so happy to see me I could cry. I scoop her up in my arms and retreat back to my bed to lay down with her. She licks my face in like she'd never forgotten me.  
“I missed you so much.” I whisper, petting her head softly. The sun was finally setting. I could see so much from up here. Sometimes birds stopped to rest on the roof tops of smaller buildings or built nests in the drain pipe outside my window. There was an empty nest outside the window that had been there for about a year. A few houses had their porch lights on. It was starting to cool off outside as it got darker and I opened my window just a crack. I could hear the sounds of kids playing and dogs barking at them as they rode their bikes through the neighborhood. I could often smell the faint scent of smoke that drifted up from the group of old guys who sometimes sat outside when the weather was nice. I know if my dad were here, he would’ve sat with them to smoke; he’d smile and talk about baseball and everything good in the world. 

It’s Summer. I used to love Sumner. There were more nights I spent outdoors with friends than there are cracks in the streets we used to roam. Back when life was carefree and you could get lost in the night without the fear of being drugged and raped in your own town. 

We didn’t understand fear back then; we thought we did. But we did not. In those days, being afraid was not knowing if you flunked your math test. Fear was temporary, like a ghost story around a camp fire. Fear was something that only existed in horror movies; you could escape it the arms of your mother and the roaring laughter of friends. You weren't in want real danger, you were simply afraid because of a feeling. You felt scared in school, after hearing of war and death and separation; but there was always someone to shelter you with ‘that kinda stuff only happens in movies.’ Then you'd start to believe them. That bad things don’t happen to good people. Evil only exists in fiction. 

We are taught to believe in the lie that we're safe in our homes and that for whatever reason, we are above harm because we're civilized. No one wants to admit that civilization ends where man begins. 

You are not safe. You never will be. 

I just want to feel safe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 《Please let me know how you like story so far!》


	5. I Wish I Was A Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the lack of updates. Life is crazy. That’s all I can say.  
> Anyways, please let me know how the story is so far. Thanks!
> 
> \- Dominik

Another day has passed.

My life slips through my fingers now, it’s all been taken so suddenly. The days are like thin threads that I can’t ever keep hold of, they disappear from my grasp before I get the chance to tie them to something secure and save myself. 

Mom says I have therapy today. I’m not looking forward to it, but I don’t look forward to anything anymore. I’m usually looking down; down into the abyss that leads to no where. It's a black hole that I’m being sucked into.   
I'd rather stay home and in my room, where I feel safe. It’s familiar, though it’s as cold as it is sad. If I need something to do later today, I might get some cardboard boxes from the garage and pack all my stuff into them. I like to think of it as closing the lids on old memories. I don’t want these memories in the forms of all my old things I used to love. They're too painful to look at now. I'm numb. I go through my day like I’m on anesthesia.   
I take a brisk shower, one that’s so hot my skin is screaming in agony and burning red. I don’t hear the screams, I don’t look at my body. It’s all over in just five minutes, and once I step out into the open of the air conditioned bathroom, my skin can breathe again and goes quiet with a tingling sensation. I avoid the mirror above the sink this time as I brush my teeth. I realize I’m naked and that I haven’t grabbed a towel from the rack. I spit minty foam into the sink and rinse my mouth out. It's nice to have clean teeth again. I dry my hair with a towel, glancing at my reflection now. Though it’s wet, my hair looks better than it did since I cut it last night. I toss the towel inside the dirty clothes basket, and hurry to gather my clean clothing up from the bathroom floor and pull it on so fast it’s like the whole world is watching. I bite my tongue just in time to prevent the scream that almost passes through my clenched teeth. My legs are scorched red from the water, but I fight through it and my boxers and pants are on. Next goes my shirts and then my jacket. I look like I’m dying. I have nothing to hide that there is no longer life in my eyes, and my face is a type of yellowish pale that only cancer patients have. I'm standing there too long I decide, because I hear my mom's voice, she's speaking rapidly and keeps knocking.   
I swing the door open and stare at her. 

“Frank- Oh my goodness your hair! I’m so sorry. Did I startle you? I’m sorry, dear. It’s time to go.”   
Mom looks like she's been up the whole night and drank all the coffee in the entire kitchen to make up for it. Her make up looks good though, and she's dressed up nicely, with pearl earrings and everything. 

I try to smile and hope it doesn’t look like a grimace. “You like it? I uh cut it last night… It looks like, you know, my old hair.”

Mom takes me by the shoulders, looking me over and I can tell she’s happy for me. She always looks like she might cry now, but she’s smiling in a motherly way that makes me want to hold her and protect her. I don’t move though, I just lightly raise my lips in attempt to smile back, as I try my best to pretend that I’m happy too. 

“I love it.”   
She says, her eyes are bright and that tells me she means it. 

“I do too.”   
I answer quietly. I can feel a smile deep within me, I just can’t do it physically, but I’m at peace and so is she, and we both say goodbye to Sweet Pea as we leave. I feel like a child as I follow closely behind my mom, almost wishing I had the guts to reach out and take her by the arm, so I'd be less afraid. But I don’t. I just bury my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans and try to pretend I'm not gasping with panic. We step on the elevator and I just close my eyes after the doors shut, leaning my head back against the enclosed walls. I can feel my stomach drop when the elevator reaches the main floor, kicking us out into the real world again. I wish I could stay inside those four walls forever. 

Mom is walking fast for being in heels; she’s carrying a foam cup of coffee while still managing to balance her laptop and work papers in her arm. Her purse is draped over her shoulder and she has no trouble pulling out her keys. I ask to help but she’s done this a thousand times and doesn’t accept my offer now. I take a look at the neighborhood before getting into the passenger seat. It’s early, so the sun isn’t as hot yet. It’s a bit humid out, but there's a light breeze that reminds me fall is on it's way. 

We don’t talk much in the car now. I don’t have anything to say and mom has run out of appropriate questions to ask. She says that when the time is right, I can tell her about all the shit that happened to me when I was gone. To this, I just respectively nod and say ‘okay.’ I don’t let her know that I cannot tell her. I can’t admit to another person, let alone my own mom, the horror that I faced each day. I’m already slowly forgetting as the days pass; I’m forgetting but I know it’s there. I can’t forget it, but I think my mind wants me to pretend it never happened. That I’m still a cheerful twelve year old boy that plays baseball and loves school. A boy who has friends and can go outside without fear. I should be in college by now. I should be enjoying life and going places. The only place I’m going is therapy. 

The sun has gotten higher in the sky now. I pull my jacket collar over my face and try to shield it. My eyes are closed and my head is throbbing. I haven’t eaten today, or the day before. I can’t. Mom hasn’t bugged me about it, she knows I don’t do it on purpose but she doesn’t know why. 

. . . .   
Mom's car is parked outside the therapist’s office. It’s a small building, unlike the hospital I stayed at. It’s less intimidating and looks like it was once someone’s home. There's a window with blue curtains and I can’t see inside. The door is bright red and has a small set of stairs leading up to it. I don’t ask why mom decided to bring me here, and I don’t remark how the décor looks like something designed by middle aged women. I don’t think I’ll fit in here. 

“Do you need me to go in with you?” 

Mom is staring into a tiny mirror and putting on lipstick. 

“No. I just uh take in these papers, right?” 

She raises her eyebrows at me, so she doesn’t have to remind me again that I have to show them my medical files. 

I simply sigh and take it as my queue to go inside. 

“Fine… I’m going.” 

“Just call me from their office if you need me, okay Frank?” 

“Okay…You- you are coming to pick me up afterwards, right?” 

I sound more desperate than I intend to and I’m doing that thing again where I’m wringing my hands and crushing whatever is in them. Oops. 

Mom doesn’t look annoyed by my hesitancy, in fact she gets out, sacrificing her ten minute head start to work. She’s standing beside me, compassion in her voice as she takes the ruined papers from my hands. 

“I promise, honey. I’ll be back on my lunch break. I'll pick you up and I'll take you straight home, sound good?” 

She smooths the file out and hands it to me, displaying a hopeful smile. She looks so pretty when she does.   
“Have fun, okay?” 

I watch as her black dodge pulls out of the parking lot and she drives away, leaving me stranded for however long this session takes. I know I’m going to hate this. I don’t need therapy, it never helped before, why would it help now? All you do is sit there in uncomfortable, overpriced armchairs and talk about uncomfortable shit you don’t wanna be talking about in the first place. Then, then when they realize you aren’t just some high school kid with temporary attention seeking depression, they give you lots of pills and put you on suicide watch. I should know, cause I’ve been there.   
After a couple minutes of standing out in the parking lot, the building towering over me and that red door calling my name, I gather enough nerve to force myself inside. I have trouble going in to places with no assurance I’ll get out of them. I know it’s irrational. I also know I can’t help it.   
Once I'm inside, I’m still uncertain of where to go. There’s a woman at the front desk who doesn’t appear to like her job or teenagers. As she sees me enter, her lips twist up like she ate something sour. I don’t have a backbone anymore, or even the remains of one to glue together a spine, so I just stand there like a little bitch and wait until she finally heaves a huge sigh. 

“Can I help you?”   
Her inquire ends in what could be a groan, but I ignore it. I wouldn’t wanna be in her position either. 

I take a step forward and hand her my file which contains all those papers mom insisted I needed to bring.  
“Um- I’m um here for an appointment.”   
I’m getting better at faking that I know how to interact with strangers. Not to pat myself on the back, but it’s only been a few days and I said a whole sentence.   
She flips through the papers and peers at me over her glasses, types some stuff into a computer and then jabs them back at me.   
“Go sit in the waiting room and they’ll call your name.” 

I quietly mumble a thanks and get the hell outta there. The waiting room is a modest size. It reminds me of the elevator, and I feel safer. I don’t like big open spaces, or crowds. I’m grateful that it’s just me in here. There's a tv on the wall and the sound is turned down. I can’t hear what is being said, but there’s a news channel on. It makes me nervous and I feel all jittery. I can't watch the news anymore. I don’t want to see him. I’m convinced that if I see him I’ll have to gouge out my eyes and I’ll cry blood until I forget his face. 

I tap my fingers against my knee, taking everything in around me. There’s a few pictures on the wall, most of them women, who I can only assume are the therapists. One of them is smiling in her picture and I feel less like my stomach is tied in knots. The magazines spread out on the coffee tables are no interest to me. Everything is meaningless now more than ever. I wish I had brought that comic with me. I tried to read it last night but my eyes were so filled with constant tears that it was no use. I’ll finish it when I get home. 

While I’m waiting, I watch the goldfish in the tank underneath the t.v. They look so calm and without a care in the world. I’ve heard that they have short term memory, and forget what their tank looks like each time they take another lap around it. I wish I had that. Maybe then I'd be normal again, or at least forget how to be a mess. 

“Frank Iero?”   
A woman's voice breaks my trance with the fish tank. I scramble to my feet and try not to drop my file and spill papers all over my feet and the carpet. 

 

Before I know it I’m automatically apologizing and for some reason stay hunched over in my stance until I hear her laugh. It’s not spiteful in the slightest and she’s soon in front of me, hand outstretched, dark red nails catching my eye quicker than her smile. It’s the same smile as the lady in the photograph. That’s quite a coincidence, but I felt more welcome by her than the others. 

“You’re Frank, right?” 

I don't want to be rude, so I shake her hand to get it over with and then pass her my file so I can safely retreat my hands to their hiding place inside my pockets. She’s wearing a long skirt, though it’s casual, and has her messy black hair tied back. She reminds me of the hippies I've seen in movies. In a way, it’s comforting. I was expecting someone in a high priced suit, with prominent frown lines and no sense of humor. 

“Yeah. I’m Frank.”   
Is all I say. My focus is back on the goldfish. 

“I’m Lindsey. I’m your new therapist. Follow me, will you?”   
I turn to her once more, just in time for her to whirl around and start off down the hallway. I can hear her jewelry clattering around and I don’t have to guess the direction to go. I’m following behind at a moderate distance, my blood pressure is rising and I can only pray to God that her office has windows. We arrive at her office and she opens the door for me. My prayers have been answered as I stare out into an assortment of flowers and trees through the tall window. The room has more color in it than a rainbow, yet it all blends together in some mystical way that I can’t put my finger on. It’s like the comic book store, though there isn’t a glow up ‘come in’ sign, cause it wasn’t needed, the room itself was already a masterpiece.   
I’m unaware that she’s pouring me a cup of tea until she hands it to me.   
“Go on, take it. It’ll help you relax.” 

I hesitate, like I always do when someone tries to give me something I haven’t earned. 

“I can guarantee that it’s free of poison… unless you’d prefer that.”   
She was joking of course and I relaxed, taking the warm cup and breathing in the steam. It did smell nice even if I rarely drank tea.   
“Where um, where can I sit?”   
I knew how all of this worked, therapy, but I felt like I'd just been invited into her home and wasn’t sitting anywhere unless she gave the okay.   
“Anywhere is fine, hell, even the floor if you’re up for it.”   
“The floor?”   
“Yep. If that’s where you’re comfortable, have at it.” 

“Okay-“  
I laughed quietly and lowered myself to the ground. 

“The floor it is!” 

She got herself a cup of tea and joined me on the soft carpet. It too was colorful and speckled, like someone had sprinkled paint onto it with a salt shaker. We both sat in front of the wall length windows in silence, taking wordless sips of tea and watching the birds outside.   
I couldn’t keep to myself after a few minutes, I guess you could say I was feeling confident even though my voice came out so inaudible Lindsey had to lean in to hear me. 

“So… When do we start the um, the therapy?” I ask, holding my mug close to my chest. It was warm. As if my three layers of shirts wasn’t enough in the Summer. 

She was still staring out the window at the birds. 

“This is the therapy. It can be whatever you want it to be. I just want you to know you’re safe here. We can talk or-“ she motioned with her hand, “do whatever this is, and not talk.” 

“Bird watching.”   
I suggested, turning back to the outdoors. 

“Sure, bird watching, and drinking tea.” 

“That sounds like… old people stuff.”   
I wrinkle my nose, but I don't look away from the apparent flower garden.

She laughed at that, “hey, I’m not that old. But yeah, you could say that. Sometimes old people stuff is the best kind of stuff.” 

I still didn’t understand. But I knew I didn’t have to. There was something so peaceful here. I don’t know if I can say that I trust her, cause I don’t trust anyone now, but Lindsey was so laid back and her smile was more inviting than Spring time. She seemed cool, even for being like, forty. 

We spent the first half of the session watching the birds. I never once felt bored, just content. In that moment, enjoying the simplicity nature has to offer, I felt alive too. I wish I could always feel this way. 

It was nearing noon, but we still remained on the floor. Lindsey had taken off her sandals, encouraging me to take my sneakers off, but I told her I preferred to keep them on.   
“Then keep em’ on.”   
Was what she said with a grin. 

For the first time outside of his basement I felt like I had the chance at a normal life. At having a friend. 

 

The birds have long flown away, but we still stare off into the garden like it's new to us. Lindsey is playing with the necklace around her neck. She opens the locket at the end of the chain and I notice it’s a watch. My heart sinks at knowing I have to leave shortly. I wish I could stay here. Lindsey doesn’t make me talk if I don’t want to, she doesn’t make me feel bad. I'm not so cold here and I’m less alone with this darkness inside my head. 

She checks her watch again.   
“So, is there anything else you’d like to talk about before you leave? Or, not talk about, that’s okay too.” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything. Anything at all.” 

I chew the end of my jacket sleeve in thought. I think that’s what I’m apprehensive of. Opening up to someone. I’m not ready for that. I know time is the best medicine, but I hate medicine and healing takes forever. I don’t have forever. So I’ll start with something manageable. One step at a time. 

I still haven’t said anything. I think Lindsey can tell I’m skeptical. 

“Okay, what’s one thing that scares you, that you want to face? Just one thing.” 

“That’s… easier said than done…” I don’t say how I’m scared of pretty much everything at this point. 

Lindsey doesn’t let that stop her though, she's perseverant to help me overcome. 

“Then we'll start with something lighter. What’s something you want courage to do? Maybe I can give you some pointers on it.” 

I pause before diving right into it. I know the answer to that, I even feel my face redden as I say it, but it makes her smile and she raises her eyebrows suggestively once I get it out. 

“There’s this… guy that I met yesterday… He was really nice to me. I… I haven’t had anyone that was so nice to me like that. I think I like him and I just… Well I just wish I could talk to him without sounding stupid.” 

I’m staring at the chaotic pattern on the carpet and can’t bring my eyes away from it. When I talk to people now I just can’t keep my head up. I think I’ll tell Lindsey about that sometime. How I can’t look at people’s eyes when they talk to me, even if I like them, and they like me. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Frank. It sounds like you have a lot of anxiety, and that's not your fault. But I think if you can face some of those barriers, it’ll be easy to talk to him.” 

“What do you mean..?” 

“Sometimes you gotta do stuff that feels scary so you can find out that it’s really not.” 

“So… Talking to him might just feel scary..? But it really isn’t?” 

“Exactly.” 

I hear a faint buzzing noise coming from Lindsey's cluttered desk and we both know it’s time for me to go. She gets up and stops the timer, shaking her head as she laughs at herself.   
“Sorry- I have a tendency to go over the time limit. My brains all over the place most days so I have a timer to remind me why I’m at work- to well, work, not talk your ear off.” 

I stand up with my empty mug, taking one final look at the garden through the window. I think I can make an exception to come to therapy now. I set my mug on Lindsey's desk so I don’t absentmindedly walk right out the door with it still in my hands. 

“Thank you… I’ll um be back again.”   
I awkwardly wave to her and she returns the gesture, giving me a thumbs up as I leave her office.

“Nice meeting you, Frank! You can do this.” 

 

• Hello! So, it’s been a long time since I updated this story. I truly love it still, though it gets really dark and unhappy, it means so much to me and my friend.   
Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, thanks! 

-Dominik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who made it this far :)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a disclaimer:
> 
> This story is in no way meant to disrespect victims of abuse or Frank, Gerard, or anyone else mentioned. The story idea itself originates from a year long Role Play my very dear friend and I made together. We really found meaning in the storyline and just love writing in general. We loved the Role Play so much, we wanted to one day write it as a story. Unfortunately, we live so far away we don’t know when it’ll happen.  
> So for now this is just my take on it and a way to pass some time writing about something I love.  
>  We hope to one day write the story again together. But for now, as I said before, this is my perspective of it and we're hopeful to someday write another one from the view points we see fit. Thank you for checking it out!
> 
> -Dominik


End file.
